STACK 
ANNEX 


The  Spring 
Concert 


Booth    Tarkington 


THE    RIDGWAY   COMPANY 
NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1916 

THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 

New  York 


The  Spring  Concert 


By 

Booth  Tarkington 

Author  of  "The  Turmoil,"  "Penrod,"  "Seventeen,"  etc. 


HE  town  was  only  about  eighty  years  old,  but 
it  loved  to  think  of  itself  as  a  "good  old 
place,"  and  it  habitually  spoke  of  the  resi 
dence  of  its  principal  citizen  as  "that  old-fashioned 
Ricketts  property." 

This  was  an  under-statement :  the  Ricketts  place 
was  more  than  merely  old-fashioned.  So  rapidly  do 
fashions  change  in  houses,  nowadays,  in  small  towns 
as  well  as  in  big,  and  so  quickly  does  life  become  his 
tory,  that  the  "Ricketts  property"  at  fifty  years  of 
age  was  an  actual  archaeological  relic.  Contemplating 
the  place  you  contemplated  a  prevalent  way  of  life 
already  abandoned,  and  learned  a  bit  of  Midland  his 
tory.  The  Ricketts  place  was  a  left-over  from  that 
period  when  every  Midland  townsman  was  his  own 
farmer,  according  to  his  means ;  and  if  he  was  able, 
kept  his  cow  and  chickens,  and  raised  corn  and  pigs 
at  home. 

3 


2064767 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


The  barn  was  a  farm  barn,  with  a  barnyard  about 
it;  here  were  the  empty  pig-pens  and  the  chicken 
house,  the  latter  still  inhabited.  In  summer,  sweet 
corn  was  still  grown  in  the  acre  lot  adjoining  the 
barnyard ;  and,  between  that  lot  and  the  driveway 
from  the  barn,  there  was  a  kitchen  garden,  there  was 
an  asparagus  bed,  and  there  was  a  strawberry  patch 
fringed  with  currant-bushes.  Behind  the  house  were 
outbuildings :  the  storeroom,  the  wash-house,  the 
smoke-house.  Here  was  the  long  grape-arbor,  and 
here  stood  the  two  pumps :  one  of  iron,  for  the  cis 
tern  ;  the  other  a  wooden  flute  that  sang  higher  and 
higher  to  an  incredible  pitch  before  it  fetched  the 
water. 

The  house  was  a  large,  pensive-looking,  honest  old 
frame  thing,  with  a  front  porch  all  across  it ;  and  the 
most  casual  passer-by  must  have  guessed  that  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  clean  oilcloth  on  the  hall  floors, 
and  that  cool  mattings  \vere  laid,  in  summer,  in  all  the 
rooms — mattings  pleasant  to  the  bare  feet  of  chil 
dren.  It  was  a  house  that  "smelled  good"  :  aromas  at 
once  sweet  and  spicy  were  wont  to  swim  down  the 
mild  breezes  of  Pawpaw  Street,  whereon  the  Rick- 
etts  place  fronted. 

In  the  latter  part  of  April  the  perfume  of  apple- 
blossoms  was  adrift  on  those  breezes,  too  ;  for  all  the 
west  side  of  the  big  yard  was  an  apple  orchard,  and 
trees  stood  so  close  to  the  house  that  a  branch  of  blos 
soms  could  be  gathered  from  one  of  the  "sitting- 
room"  windows — and  on  a  warm  end-of-April  day, 
when  that  orchard  was  full  abloom,  last  year,  there 

4 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


sat  reading  a  book,  beneath  the  carnival  clouds  of 
blossom,  an  apple-blossom  of  a  girl. 

So  she  was  informed  by  Mr.  Lucius  Brutus  Allen. 
Air.  Allen  came  walking  up  Pawpaw  Street  from 
Alain  Street,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon ;  a 
broad,  responsible  figure  with  a  broad,  irresponsible 
face,  and  a  good,  solid,  reddish-haired  head  behind 
the  face.  He  was  warm,  it  appeared ;  inclined  to  re 
fresh  his  legs  with  a  pause  of  leisure,  his  nose  with 
the  smell  of  the  orchard,  his  eyes  with  the  sight  of  its 
occupant.  He  halted,  rested  his  stout  forearms  upon 
the  top  of  the  picket- fence,  and  in  his  own  way  made 
the  lady  acquainted  with  his  idea  of  her  appearance. 

"A  generous  soil  makes  a  generous  people,  Miss 
Alary,"  he  observed  ;  and  she  looked  up  gravely  from 
her  book  at  the  sound  of  his  tremulous  tenor  voice. 
"You  see,  most  of  this  country  in  the  Ohio  and  Mis 
sissippi  valleys  is  fertile.  We  don't  have  to  scratch 
the  rocks  for  our  crops,  so  we  have  time  to  pronounce 
our  r's.  We've  even  got  the  leisure  to  drawl  a  little. 
A  Yankee,  now,  he's  too  pinched  for  time,  between 
his  hard  rocks  and  his  hard  winters,  to  pronounce  his 
r's ;  so  he  calls  his  mother  'motha,'  and  hurries  on. 
But  he's  conscientious,  Miss  Alary;  he  knows  he's 
neglected  something,  and  so,  to  make  up  for  it,  he 
calls  his  sister  'Alariar.'  Down  South  it's  too  hot  for 
a  fellow  to  trouble  about  the  whole  blame  alphabet, 
so  he  says,  'Lessee,  which  lettuhs  goin'  to  be  the 
easies'  to  leave  out  ?'  he  says.  'Well,  the  r's,  I  reckon,' 
he  says.  'An'  g,'  he  says.  Til  leave  r  out  most  the 
time,  an'  g  whenevuh  I  get  the  chance — an'  some- 

5 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


times  d  an'  t.  That'll  be  a  heap  easiuh/  he  says, 
'when  I'm  claimin'  my  little  boy  is  the  smahtis'  chile 
in  the  worl'." 

Mr.  Allen  paused  genially,  then  concluded :  "You 
see,  Miss  Mary,  I've  just  been  leading  up  logically  to 
the  question  :  Which  is  you  and  which  is  the  rest  of 
the  apple-blossoms  ?" 

Miss  Ricketts  made  no  vocal  reply,  but  there  was  a 
slight  concentration  of  the  fine  space  between  her 
eyebrows  ;  decidedly  no  symptom  of  pleasure,  though 
she  might  properly  have  enjoyed  the  loiterer's  little 
extravagance,  which  was  far  from  being  inaccurate 
as  extravagances  go.  Mr.  Allen  was  forced  to  re 
mind  himself  that  "nobody  loves  a  fat  man,"  though 
he  decided  not  to  set  his  thought  before  the  lady. 

A  smile  of  some  ruefulness  became  just  visible 
upon  the  ample  surface  of  his  face,  then  withdrew  to 
the  interior,  and  was  transmuted  into  a  quality  of  his 
odd  and  pleasant  voice,  which  was  distinctly  rueful 
as  he  said : 

"It's  the  weather,  Miss  Mary.  You  musn't  mind 
what  anybody  says  along  during  the  first  warm  days 
in  spring.  People  are  liable  to  say  anything  at  all." 

"Yes,"  Miss  Ricketts  returned,  not  mollified.  "I've 
just  noticed."  She  gave  him  one  dark  glance,  wholly 
unfavorable,  as  she  spoke,  and  then  looked  down  at 
her  book  again,  allowing  him  no  possible  doubt  that 
she  wished  to  proceed  with  her  reading. 

"I'm  a  hard  man  to  discourage,"  said  Mr.  Allen. 
"The  band's  going  to  play  in  the  Square  to-night.  It's 
been  practising  'Annie  Laurie'  and  'Tenting  To- 

6 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


night'  all  winter,  up  in  the  storeroom  over  Tom  Leg- 
gett's  wall-paper  and  book  emporium,  and  of  course 
the  boys  are  anxious  to  give  their  first  concert.  What 
I  wanted  to  say  was  this :  If  I  came  by  for  you  after 
supper,  would  you  care  to  go?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Ricketts  quietly,  not  looking  up. 

Before  continuing  and  concluding  the  conversa 
tion,  Lucius  Brutus  Allen  paused  to  contemplate  the 
top  of  her  pink  and  white  hat,  which  was  significantly 
presented  to  his  view  as  she  bent  over  her  book ;  and 
the  pause  was  a  wistful  one  on  his  part.  "Seeing  as 
that's  the  case,"  he  said,  finally,  "I  may  be  a  hard  man 
to  discourage,  and  I  i^as  on  my  way  home,  but  I  be 
lieve  I'll  just  turn  right  square  around  and  go  on  back 
to  the  National  House  bar — and  get  me  a  drink  of 
lemonade.  I  want  to  show  people  I'm  as  desperate  as 
anybody,  when  I'm  crossed." 

Immediately,  with  an  air  of  resolution,  Mr.  Allen 
set  off  upon  the  path  by  which  he  had  come.  He  de 
bouched  upon  Main  Street,  at  the  foot  of  Pawpaw, 
crossed  the  Square  to  the  dismal  brick  pile  much 
too  plainly  labeled,  "National  House  Will  W'heen 
Propr,"  and  passed  between  two  swinging,  green, 
knee-high  doors  on  the  ground  floor.  "George,"  he 
said  to  the  bartender,  "I'm  not  happy.  Have  you  any 
lemons?" 

The  bartender  rubbed  the  back  of  his  neck,  stooped, 
and  poked  and  peered  variously  beneath  the  long  bar. 
"Seems  like  I  did  have  some,  Lu,"  he  said  thought 
fully.  "I  remember  seein'  them  lemons  last 
Mon— 

7 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


"No,"  Mr.  Allen-  interrupted,  sighing.  "I've  been 
through  this  before  with  you,  George.  I'll  take  but 
termilk." 

"Oh,  got  plenty  buttermilk!"  the  bartender  said, 
brightening;  and  supplied  his  customer  from  a  large, 
bedewed  white  pitcher.  "Buttermilk  goes  good  this 
weather,  don't  it,  Lu?" 

"It  do,"  said  Lucius,  gravely. 

Glass  in  hand,  he  went  to  a  small,  round  table  where 
sat  the  only  other  present  patron  of  the  bar — a  young 
man  well-favored,  but  obviously  in  a  state  morbid  if 
not  moribund.  He  did  not  look  up  at  Mr.  Allen's  ap 
proach  ;  continuing  to  sit  motionless  with  his  faraway 
gaze  marooned  upon  a  stratum  of  amber  light  in  his 
glass  on  the  table  before  hint. 

He  was  a  picturesque  young  man,  and,  with  his 
rumpled  black  hair,  so  thick  and  wavy  about  his 
brooding  white  face,  the  picture  he  most  resembled 
was  that  of  a  provincial  young  lawyer  stricken  with 
the  stage-disease  and  bound  to  play  Hamlet.  This 
was  no  more  than  a  resemblance,  however  ;  his  inten 
tions  were  different,  as  he  roused  himself  to  make 
clear  presently,  though  without  altering  his  attitude, 
or  even  the  direction  of  his  glance. 

"What  do  you  mean?''  he  inquired  huskily,  a  mo 
ment  after  Mr.  Allen  had  seated  himself  at  the  table. 
"What  do  you  mean,  slamming  a  glass  of  buttermilk 
down  on  my  table,  Lucius  Brutus  Allen?" 

Mr.  Allen  put  on  sc  pair  of  eye-glasses,  and  thought 
fully  examined  the  morose  gentleman's  countenance 
before  replying.  "I  would  consume  this  flagon  of 

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The    SPRING    CONCERT 


buttermilk  in  congenial  melancholy,  Joseph  Pitney 
Parley." 

Mr.  Perley,  still  motionless,  demanded  :  "Can't  you 
see  what  I'm  doing?" 

"What  are  you  doing,  Joe  ?" 

"Drinking!" 

"Professionally?"  Mr.  Allen  inquired.  "Or  only 
for  the  afternoon?" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  talked  to !" 

"I  do,"  said  Lucius.    "Talk  to  me." 

Here  the  bartender  permitted  himself  the  interven 
tion  of  a  giggle,  and  wiped  his  dry  bar  industriously 
— his  favorite  gesture.  "You  ain't  goin'  to  git  much 
talk  out  o'  Joe,  Lu  !"  he  said.  "All  he's  said  sence  he 
come  in  here  was  jest,  'Gimme  same,  George.'  /  tell 
him  he  ain't  goin'  to  be  in  no  condition  to  'tend  the 
band  concert 's  evening  if  he  keeps  on  another  couple 
hours  or  so.  Me,  I  don't  mind  seein'  a  man  drink 
some,  but  I  like  to  see  him  git  a  little  fun  out  of  it !" 

"Have  you  considered  the  band  concert,  Joe?"  Mr. 
Allen  inquired.  "Do  you  realize  what  strange  eu 
phonies  you'll  miss  unless  you  keep  sober  until  seven- 
thirty  ?" 

The  somber  Perley  relaxed  his  gaze,  and  uttered  a 
fierce  monosyllable  of  denunciation.  "Sober !"  he 
added,  afterward.  "I'm  sober.  That's  my  trouble. 
I've  been  trying  to  get  tight  for  three  hours  !" 

"I'll  say  this  fer  you,"  the  bartender  volunteered — 
"you  been  tryin'  good,  too !" 

"Ever  experiment  any  ?"  Lucius  suggested.  "Why 
don't  you  go  over  to  Doc  Willis's  Painless  Dental 

9 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


Parlors  ?  He's  got  a  tank  of  gas  there,  and  all  you  do 
is  put  a  rubber  thing  over  your  nose  and  breathe. 
Without  any  trouble  at  all  you'll  be  completely  out  of 
business  in  forty-five  seconds." 

"Yeh,"  said  the  bartender.  "But  it  don't  last  more'n 
about  four  minutes." 

"No ;  that's  true,"  Lucius  admitted.  "But  maybe 
Joe  could  hire  Doc  to  tap  him  behind  the  ear  with  one 
of  those  little  lead  mallets  when  he  sees  him  coming 
out  of  the  gas.  Joe'd  feel  just  about  the  same  to 
morrow  as  he  will  if  he  stays  here  running  up  a  bill 
with  you.  Fact  is,  I  believe  he'd  feel  better." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Perley,  with  emphasis,  "I'm 
drinking!"  And  for  further  emphasis  he  rattled  his 
glass.  "Give  me  the  same,  George,"  he  said. 

George  held  a  bottle  to  the  light.  He  meditated, 
rubbing  the  back  of  his  head ;  then  spoke :  "Tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  The  wife's  waitin'  supper  fer  me  now  ; 
I  want  to  git  back  up-town  early  fer  the  trade  before 
the  concert,  because  I  look  fer  quite  a  rush — 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Mr.  Allen  musingly.  "Our 
community  is  going  to  see  a  night  of  wine  and  music, 
George." 

"I'll  jest  open  a  fresh  bottle  fer  you,  Joe,"  the  bar 
tender  continued;  "and  when  I  git  back  I'll  charge 
you  with  how  many  drinks  you  take  out  of  it ;  I  got 
the  place  marked  with  my  thumb.  I'm  goin'  on  home 
to  supper.  You  want  any  more  buttermilk,  Lu?" 

"Bring  the  pitcher,"  said  Mr.  Allen.  "I  will  sup 
upon  it." 

"All  right."  And  George  brought  to  the  table  the 
10 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


pitcher  of  buttermilk,  a  dim  saucer  of  crackers  and 
cheese,  a  brown  bottle,  ice-wrater,  and  fresh  glasses. 
After  that  he  doffed  his  apron,  put  on  his  hat,  but  no 
coat,  and  went  to  the  door,  where  he  turned  to  say : 
"If  anybody  else  comes  in  here  before  I  git  back " 

"And  calls  for  liquor,"  Mr.  Allen  took  up  the  sen 
tence,  as  George  paused  in  thought,  "we  shall  be  glad 
to— 

"Tell  'em,"  said  George,  "they  don't  git  it!"  He 
departed. 

Mr.  Allen  helped  himself  to  buttermilk,  ate  a 
cracker,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  began  to  hum 
"Annie  Laurie." 

"Stop  that !"  said  Perley.  sharply. 

"Certainly,"  said  Lucius.    "I'll  whistle  instead." 

"If  you  do,"  the  troubled  young  man  warned  him, 
in  good  faith,  "I'll  kill  you!" 

"What  can  I  do  to  entertain  you,  Joe?" 
"You  might  clear  out."  his  friend  suggested  darkly. 
"God  knows  I  haven't  asked  for  your  society !" 

"Xo."  said  Lucius.  "Our  fairest  gifts  do  oft  ar 
rive  without  petition.  What  an  unusual  thought! 
Have  you  noticed — 

But  the  other  burst  out  suddenly  in  a  tragic  fury : 
"Shut  up  !  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Can't  you 
see  I  want  to  be  alone?" 

Mr.  Allen  remained  placid.  "What  difference  do 
I  make?"  he  asked.  "I  thought  you  said  you  were 
'drinking'?  If  you're  really  in  earnest  about  it  you 
don't  care  who's  here  or  anywhere  else." 

"Don't  you  see  I'm  in  misery?"  cried  Perley. 
11 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


"The  ayes  have  it." 

"Well,  then,  why  in  Heaven's  name  can't  you 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Lucius.  "I'm  in  misery,  too. 
Terrible !" 

"Well,  what  the  devil  do  /  care  for  that?" 

"Haven't  I  got  a  right  to  sit  here?"  Lucius  inquired 
mildly.  "Haven't  I  got  a"  right  to  sit  here  and  drink, 
and  cuss  inside  my  innards,  and  take  on  the  way 
you're  doing?  Mary  Ricketts  jast  told  me  that  she 
wouldn't  go  to  the  band  concert  with  me." 

"Oh,  do  dry  up !" 

"Well,  you're  responsible  for  Mary's  treatment  of 
me,  aren't  you?"  said  Lucius.  "I  thought  probably 
there'd  be  trouble  when  I  saw  you  headed  this  way 
this  afternoon." 

"You  do  beat  any  ordinary  lunatic !"  the  distressed 
young  man  protested.  "I  'headed  this  way'  this  after 
noon  because  I  got  one  of  my  spells.  You  know  well 
enough  how  it  is  with  me,  and  how  it  was  with  my 
father  before  me— every  so  often  the  spell  comes  on 
me,  and  I've  got  to  drink.  What  in  the  Lord's  name 
has  that  to  do  with  Mary  Ricketts  ?  I  don't  suppose 
I've  even  seen-  her  for  a  month.  Xever  did  see  any 
thing  of  her,  to  speak  of,  in  my  life." 

Mr.  Allen  replenished  his  glass  from  the  pitcher  of 
buttermilk  before  replying,  and  appeared  to  muse 
sorrowfully.  "Well,  maybe  I  was  mistaken,"  he  said. 
"But  I—  He  broke  off  a  line  of  thought;  then 

sighed  and  inquired:  "When  this  'spell'  comes  on 
you,  Joe,  you  feel  that  you've  'got'  to  go  on 
until— 

12 


The     SPRING     C  ONCER  T 


"You  know  I  do !    I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

"But  suppose,"  said  Lucius,  "suppose  something 
took  your  mind  off  of  it." 

"Nothing  could.    Nothing  on  earth  !" 

"But  just  suppose  something  did  turn  up — right  in 
the  start  of  a  spell,  say — something  you  found  you'd 
rather  do.  You  know,  Joe,  I  believe  if  it  did  and  you 
found  something  else  was  really  pleasanter,  it  might 
be  you'd  never  start  in  again.  You'd  understand  it 
wasn't  the  fun  you  think  it  is,  maybe." 

"Fun!"  Joe  cried.    "I  don't  want  to  drink!" 

And  at  that  his  stocky  companion  burst  into  out 
right  laughter.  "I  know  you  think  so,  Joe,"  he  said 
apologetically,  when  his  hilarity  was  sufficiently,  di 
minished.  "Of  course  you  believe  it.  I'm  not  deny 
ing  that." 

"By  George!"  the  unfortunate  young  man  ex 
claimed.  "You  do  make  me  sick  !  I  suppose  if  I  had 
smallpox  you'd  say  you  weren't  denying  I  believed  I 
had  it !  You  sit  there  and  drink  your  buttermilk,  and 
laugh  at  me  like  a  ninny  because  you  can't  under 
stand  !  No  man  on  earth  can  understand,  unless 
he  has  the  thirst  come  on  him  the  way  mine  does 
on  me !  And  yet  you  tell  me  I  only  'believe'  I 
have  it!" 

"Yes,  I  ought  to  explain,"  said  Mr.  Allen  sooth 
ingly.  "It  did  sound  unfeeling.  One  of  the  reasons 
you  drink,  Joe,  is  because  this  is  a  small  town ; — you 
have  an  active  mind,  a  lot  of  the  time  there's  nothing 
much  to  do,  and  you  get  bored." 

13 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


"I  told  you  nobody  could  understand  such  a  thirst 
as  mine — nobody  except  the  man  that's  got  one 
like  it!'' 

"This  hankering  is  something  inside  you,  isn't  it. 
Joe  ?" 

"What  of  that?" 

"It  comes  on  you  about  every  so  often  ?" 

"Yes." 

"If  there  weren't  any  liquor  in  the  world,  you'd 
have  the  thirst  for  it  just  the  same,  would  you  ?" 

"Just  the  same,"  Perley  answered.  "And  go  crazy 
from  it." 

"Whereas,"'  Mr.  Allen  returned,  "since  liquor's  ob 
tainable  you  prefer  to  go  crazy  from  the  imbibing  of 
it  instead  of  from  the  hanker  for  it.  You  find  that 
more  ossedalious,  and  nobody  can  blame  you.  But 
suppose  alcohol  had  never  been  discovered,  would 
you  have  the  hanker?" 

"No,  because  I  wouldn't  have  inherited  it  from  my 
father.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  how  it  runs  in  my 
family." 

"So  I  do,  Joe;  so  I  do!"  Mr.  Allen  sighed  remi- 
niscently.  "Both  your  father  and  your  Uncle  Sam 
went  that  way.  I  remember  them  very  well,  and  how 
they  enjoyed  it — the  earlier  stages,  I  mean.  That's 
different  from  you,  Joe." 

"  'Different !'  "  Joe  laughed  bitterly.  "Do  you  sup 
pose  I  get  any  'enjoyment'  out  of  it?  Three  days  I'll 
drink  now  ;  then  I'll  be  in  hell — and  I've  got  to  go  on. 
I've  got  to!'' 

"Funny  about  its  being  hereditary,"  said  Lucius. 
14 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


musing  aloud.  "I  expect  you  rather  looked  forward 
to  that,  Joe?" 

His  companion  stared  at  him  fiercely.  "What  do 
you  mean  by  that?"  he  demanded. 

"You  always  thought  it  was  going  to  be  heredi 
tary,  didn't  you,  Joe  ?  From  almost  when  you  were 
a  boy?" 

"Yes,  I  did.    What  of  it?" 

"And  maybe — "  Lucius  suggested,  with  the  utmost 
mildness — "just  possibly,  say  about  the  time  you 
began  to  use  liquor  a  little  at  first,  you  decided 
that  this  hereditary  thing  was  inevitable,  and  the 
idea  made  you  melancholy  about  yourself,  of 
course ;  but  after  all,  you  felt  that  the  hereditary 
thing  made  a  pretty  fair  excuse  to  yourself,  didn't 
you  ?" 

"See  here,"  Joe  said  angrily,  "I'm  not  in  any  mood 
to  stand — 

"Pshaw  !"  Lucius  interrupted.  "I  was  only  going 
on  to  say  that  it's  more  and  more  curious  to  me  about 
this  hereditary  notion.  I'm  thirty-five,  and  you're 
only  twenty-six.  I  remember  well  when  your  father 
began  to  drink  especially.  I  was  seventeen  years  old, 
and  you  were  about  eight.  You  see  you  were  already 
born  then,  and  so  I  can't  understand  about  the  thirst 
being  heredi — 

"Damn  it  all !"  Joe  Perley  shouted ;  and  he  struck 
the  table  with  his  fist.  "I  told  you  I  don't  want  to 
talk,  didn't  I?"  Didn't  you  hear  me  say  I  was 
drinking?" 

The  amiable  man  across  the  table  produced  two 
15 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


cigars  from  his  coat  pocket.  "We'll  change  the  sub 
ject,"  he  said.  "Smoke,  Joe?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

"We'll  change  the  subject,"  Lucius  repeated.  "I 
gather  that  this  one  is  painful  to  you.  You  don't  mind 
my  staying  here  if  we  talk  about  something  else?" 

"No — not  much." 

"I  mentioned  that  I  asked  Mary  Ricketts  to  go 
with  me  to  the  band  concert  to-night,  didn't  I  ?"  Mr. 
Allen  inquired,  as  he  lit  his  cigar.  "I  was  telling  you 
about  that,  wasn't  I,  Joe?" 

"You  said  something  about  it,"  Mr.  Perley  replied 
with  evident  ennui. 

"You  know,  Joe,"  said  Lucius,  his  tone  becoming 
confidential,  "I  walk  past  the  old  Ricketts  property 
every  afternoon  on  my  way  home.  It's  quite  consid 
erable  out  of  my  way,  but  I  always  do.  Fact  is,"  he 
chuckled  ruefully,  "I  can't  help  it." 

"I  suppose  you  want  me  to  ask  you  why,"  said  his 
gloomy  companion,  with  sincere  indifference. 

"Yes,  Joe,  will  you?" 

"All  right.    Why  can't  you  help  it?" 

"Well,  there's  something  about  that  old  place  so 
kind  of  pleasant  and  healthy  and  reliable.  This  is  a 
funny  world :  there's  a  lot  of  things  a  fellow's  got  to 
be  afraid  of  in  it,  and  the  older  rue  gets  the  more  he 
sees  to  scare  him.  I  think  what  I  like  best  about  that 
old  Ricketts  property  is  the  kind  of  safe  look  it  has. 
It  looks  as  if  anybody  that  belonged  in-  there  was  safe 
from  'most  any  kind  of.  disaster — bankruptcy,  lunacy, 
'social  ambition,'  money  ambition,  evil  thoughts,  or 

16 


T  fie     SPRING     CONCERT 


turning  into  a  darn  fool  of  any  kind.  You  don't  hap 
pen  to  walk  by  there  much,  do  you,  Joe?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Well,  sir,  you  ought  to!"  said  Lucius  genially. 
"The  orchard's  in  bloom,  and  you  ought  to  see  it. 
The  Ricketts  orchard  is  the  show  of  this  county.  The 
good  old  judge  has  surely  looked  after  those  old 
apple-trees  of  his;  they're  every  one  just  solid  blos 
som.  Yes,  sir,  every  last  one  !  Why,  it  made  me  feel 
like  a  dryad !" 

"Like  a  who?" 

"You  mean-  that  I'm  thirty-five" — so  Mr.  Allen 
thought  fit  to  interpret  this  question — "and  that  I'm 
getting  a  little  fat,  some  baldish,  and  a  whole  lot 
reddish.  So  I  am ;  but  I'll  tell  you  something,  young 
Joseph :  romance  is  a  thing  inside  a  person,  just  the 
same  as  your  thirst.  It  doesn't  matter  what  his  out 
side  is  like.  My  trousers  always  bag  at  the  knees, 
even  when  they're  new,  but  my  knees  themselves  are 
pure  Grecian.  It's  the  skinny  seamstress  of  forty 
that  dreams  the  most  of  marquises  in  silver  armor; 
and  darky  boys  in- school  forget  the  lesson  in  reveries 
about  themselves — they  think  of  themselves  on 
horseback  as  generals  with  white  faces  and  straight 
blond  hair.  And  everybody  knows  that  the  best  poets 
are  always  outrageously  ordinary  to  look  at.  This  is 
springtime,  Joseph ;  and  the  wren  lays  an  egg  no  big 
ger  than  a  fairy's.  The  little  birds — 

"By  George  !"  Mr.  Perley  exclaimed,  in  real  aston 
ishment.  "See  here  !"  he  said.  "Had  you  been  drnk- 
ing  a  little  yqurself  before  you  came  in?  If  not,  it's 

17 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


the  first  time  I  knew  a  person  could  get  a  talking  jag 
on  buttermilk." 

"No,"'  said  Lucius,  correcting  him.  "It's  on  apple- 
blossoms.  She  was  sitting  under  'em  pretending  to 
read  a  book,  but  I  suppose  she  was  thinking  about 
you,  Joe/' 

"Who  was?" 

"Mary,"  Mr.  Allen  replied  quietly.  "Mary 
Ricketts." 

"You  say  she  was  thinking  about  me?" 

"Probably  she  was,  Joe.  She  was  sitting  there,  and 
the  little  birds— 

"I  know  you're  a  good  lawyer,"  Joe  interrupted, 
shaking  his  head  in  gloomy  wonder,  "but  everybody 
in  town  thinks  you're  a  nut,  except  when  you're  on  a 
law  case,  and  I  guess  they're  about  right.  You  cer 
tainly  talk  like  one  !'* 

Mr.  Allen  nodded.  "A  reputation  like  that  is 
mighty  helpful  sometimes." 

"Well,  if  you  like  it  you're  free  to  refer  all  in 
quirers  to  me,"  said  Joe  heartily.  "You're  trying  to 
tell  me  Mary  Ricketts  was  'thinking'  about  me,  and 
I  don't  suppose  I've  seen  her  as  much  as  five  times 
this  year;  and  I  haven't  known  her — not  to  speak  of 
— since  we  were  children.  I  don't  suppose  I've  had 
twenty  minutes'  talk  with  her,  all  told,  since  I  got 
back  from  college.  The  only  girl  I  ever  see  anything 
of  at  all  is  Molly  Baker,  and  that's  only  because  she 
happens  to  live  next  door.  I  don^t  see  even  Molly  to 
speak  to  more  than  once  or  twice  a  month.  I  don't 
have  anything  to  do  with  any  of  the  girls.  I  keep 

18 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


away  from  'em,  because  a  man  with  the  curse  I've 
got  hanging  over*  me — 

"Thought  you  didn't  want  to  talk  about  that,  Joe." 

"I  don't,"  the  young  man  said  angrily.  "But  I 
want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  this  nonsense  about 
Mary  Ricketts  and  me." 

"I  don't  know  if  1  ought  to  tell  you — exactly." 
Here  Lucius  frowned  as  with  a  pressure  of  con 
science.  "I'm  not  sure  I  ought  to.  Do  you  insist  on 
it,  Joe?" 

"Not  if  you've  got  to  talk  any  more  about  'the 
little  birds !'  "  Joe  returned  with  sour  promptness. 
"But  if  you  can  leave  them  out  and  talk  in  a  regular 
way,  I'd  like  to  hear  you." 

"Have  you  ever  noticed,"  Mr.  Allen  began,  "that 
Mary  Ricketts  is  a  beautiful  girl?" 

"She's  not,"  said  Joe.  "She's  not  anything  like 
'beautiful.'  Everybody  in  town  knowrs  and  always 
has  known  that  Mary  Ricketts  is  an  ordinarily  good- 
looking  girl.  You  can  call  her  pretty  if  you  want  to 
stretch  it  a-  little,  but  that's  all." 

"That  all,  you  think?" 

"Certainly !" 

"You  ought  to  see  her  in  the  orchard,  Joe !" 

"Well,  I'm  not  very  likely  to." 

"Well,  just  why  not,  now?" 

"Well,  why  should  I  ?" 

"You  mean  you've  never  given  much  thought  to 
her?" 

"Certainly  I  haven't,"  said  Joe.    "Why  should  I  ?" 

"Isn't  it  strange  now !"  Mr.  Allen  shook  his  head 
19 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


wistfully.  "I  mentioned  that  I  asked  her  to  go  to 
the  band  concert  with  me,  didn't  I,  Joe?" 

"You  did." 

"And  did  I  tell  you  that  she  refused?" 

"Lord,  yes !" 

"Well,  that  was  it,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  gently.  "She 
just  said,  'No !'  She  didn't  say  'No,  thank  you.'  No, 
sir,  nothing  like  that;  just  plain  'No!'  'Well,'  I 
thought  to  myself,  'now  \vhy  is  that?  Naturally, 
she'd  want  to  go  to  the  concert,  wouldn't  she  ?  Why, 
of  course  she  would ;  it's  the  first  public  event  that's 
happened  since  the  lecture  on  'Liquid  Air'  at  Masonic 
Hall,  along  back  in  February.  Certainly  she'd  want 
to  go.  Well,  then,  what's  the  matter?  It  must  be 
simply  she  doesn't  want  to  go  with  you,  Lucius 
Brutus  Allen !' 

"That's  what  I  said  to  myself,  Joe.  'You're  prac 
tically  a  fat  old  man  from  her  point  of  view,'  I  said 
to  myself.  'She  wants  to  go  but  you  aren't  the  fellow 
she  wants  to  go  with.  Well,  who  is  it?  Evidently,' 
I  reasoned,  'evidently  he  hasn't  turned  up,  because 
she's  just  the  least  bit  snappish  the  way  she  tells  me 
she  isn't  pining  for  my  escort.' 

"Well,  sir,  I  began  to  cast  around  in  my  mind  to 
think  who  on  earth  it  could  be.  'It  isn't  Henry 
Wheen,'  I  thought,  'because  she  discouraged  Henry 
so  hard,  more  than  a  year  ago,  that  Henry  went  and 
married  that  waitress  here  at  his  father's  hotel.  And 
it  isn't  Bax  Lewis,'  I  thought,  'because  she  showed 
Bax  he  didn't  stand  any  chance  from  the  first.  And 
it  isn't  Charlie  McGregor  or  Cal  Yeedis,'  I  thought, 

20 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


'because  she  just  zvouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
either  of  them,  though  they  both  tried  to  make  her 
till  the  judge  pretty  near  had  to  tell  'em  right  out 
that  they'd  better  stay  away.  Well,  it  isn't  Doc 
Willis,  and  it  isn't  Carlos  Bollingbroke  Thompson, 
nor  Whit  Connor,'  1  thought,  'because  they're  old 
bachelors  like  me — and  that  just  about  finishes  the 
list.'  Well,  sir,  there's  where  1  had  to  scratch  my 
head.  'It  must  be  somebody,'  I  thought,  'somebody 
that  hasn't  been  coming  around  the  Ricketts  property 
at  all,  so  far.  because  she's  never  gone  any  place  she 
could  help  with  those  that  hare  been  coming  around 
there.'  Then  I  thought  of  you,  Joe.  'By  George!' I 
thought.  'By  George,  it  might  be  Joe  Perley !  He's 
the  only  young  man  in  town  not  married,  engaged,  or 
feeble-minded,  that  hasn't  ever  showed  any  interest 
in  Miss  Mary.  There's  no  two  ways  about  it :  likely 
as  not  it's  liable  to  be  Joe  Perley !'  ' 

"I  never  heard  anything  crazier  in  my  life!"  Joe 
said.  "I  don't  suppose  Mary  Ricketts  has  given  me 
t\vo  thoughts  in  the  last  five  years." 

Mr.  Allen  tilted  back  in  his  chair,  his  feet  upon  a 
rung  of  the  table.  He  placed  his  cigar  at  the  left  ex 
tremity  of  his  mouth,  gazed  at  the  ceiling,  and  waved 
his  right  hand  in  a  take-it-or-leave-it  gesture. 

"Well,  why  would  she?"  Joe  demanded.  "There's 
nothing  about  me  that — 

"No,"  said  his  friend.  "Nothing  except  she  doesn't 
know  you  very  well." 

At  that  Joe  Perley  laughed.  "You  are  the  funniest 
old  Lucius  !"  he  said.  "Just  because  I've  never  been 

21 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


around  there  and  the  rest  have,  you  say  that 
proves 

Mr.  Allen  waved  his  hand'  again.  "I  only  say 
there's  somebody  could  get  her  to  go  to  that  concert 
with  him.  Absolutely!  Why  absolutely  ?  It's  spring 
time  ;  she's  twenty-three.  Of  course,  if  it  is  you,  she 
isn't  very  liable  to  hear  the  music  except  along  with 
her  family — not  when  you've  got  such  pressing  en 
gagements  here,  of  course !  I'm  thinking  of  going 
up  there  again  pretty  soon  myself,  to  see  if  maybe 
Judge  and  Mrs.  Ricketts  aren't  going  to  walk  up 
town  for  the  concert,  and  maybe  I  can  sort  of  push 
myself  in  among  the  family  so  that  I  can  walk  any 
way  in  the  same  group  with  Mary !  It's  going 
to  be  moonlight,  and  as  balmy  as  a  night  in  a 
piece  of  poetry !  By  George !  you  can  smell  apple- 
blossoms  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other, 
Joe!" 

"How  you  hate  talking!"  Mr.  Periey  remarked 
discouragingly. 

"I  hear  the  band  is  going  to  try  'Schubert's  Sere 
nade/  "  Lucius  continued.  "The  boy's  aren't  so  bad 
as  we  make  out,  after  all ;  the  truth  is,  they  play 
almighty  well.  I  expect  you'll  be  able  to  hear  some 
of  it  from  in  here,  Joe ;  but  take  me  now — I  want  to 
be  out  in  the  moonlight  in  that  apple-blossom  smell 
when  they  play  'Schubert's  Serenade!'  I  want  to  be 
somewhere  where  I  can  see  the  moonshine  shadow  of 
Mary  Ricketts's  hat  fall  across  her  cheek,  so  I  can 
spend  my  time  guessing  whether  she's  listening  to  the 
music  with  her  eyes  shut  or  open.  It's  a  pink-and- 

22 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


white  hat,  and  she's  wearing  a  pink-and-white  dress, 
too,  to-day,  Joe.  She  was  sitting  under  those  apple- 
blossoms,  and  the  little  bir — 

Sudden,  loud,  and  strong  expressions  suffered  him 
not  to  continue  for  several  moments. 

"Certainly,  Joe,''  Mr.  Allen  then  resumed.  "I  will 
not  mention  them  again.  I  was  only  leading  to  the 
remark  that  nightingales  serenading  through  the 
almond-groves  of  Sicily  probably  have  nothing  par 
ticular  on  our  enterprising  little  city  during  a  night  in 
apple-blossom  time.  My  great  trouble,  Joe,  is  never 
getting  used  to  its  being  springtime.  Every  year 
when  it  comes  around  again  it  hits  me  just  the  same 
way — maybe  a  little  more  so  each  year  that  I  grow 
older.  And  this  has  been  the  first  plumb  genuine 
spring  day  we've  had. 

"At  the  present  hour  this  first  true  blue  spring  day 
is  hushing  itself  down  into  the  first  spring  evening, 
and  in  a  little  while  there'll  be  another  miracle :  the 
first  scented  and  silvered  spring  night.  All  over  town 
the  old  folks  are  coming  out  from  their  suppers  to  sit 
on  their  front  porches,  and  the  children  are  beginning 
to  play  hi-spy  in  and  out  among  the  trees.  Pretty 
soon  they'll  all,  old  and  young,  be  strolling  up-town 
to  hear  the  band  play  on  the  court-house  steps.  I  ex 
pect  some  of  the  young  couples  already  have  started  ; 
they  like  to  walk  slowly  and  not  say  much,  on  the 
way  to  the  spring  concert,  you  know." 

Mr.  Allen  drank  another  glass  of  buttermilk, 
smiled,  then  murmured  with  repletion  and  the  pathos 
of  a  concluding  bit  of  enthusiasm.  "Oh,  Lordy, 

23 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


Lordy  !"  he  said,  "What  it  is  to  be  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  in  springtime !" 

"Not  for  me,  Lucius,''  Mr.  Perley  rejoined,  shak 
ing  his  head. 

"Xo,  I  suppose  not.  It  does  seem  pretty  rough," 
said  Lucius,  sympathetically,  "to  think  of  you  sitting 
here  in  this  reeky  hole,  when  pretty  nearly  every 
other  young  fellow  in  town  will  be  strolling  through 
the  apple-blossom  smell  in  the  moonlight  with  a  girl 
on  his  arm,  and  the  band  playing,  and  all.  Old  soak 
Beeslum'll  probably  be  in  here  to  join  you  after 
while,  though ;  and  four  or  five  farm  hands,  and 
some  of  the  regular  Saturday-night  town  drunks,  and 
maybe  two  or  three  Swedes.  Oh,  I  expect  you'll  have 
company  enough,  Joe !" 

''I  guess  so.  Anyhow,  I  haven't  much  choice !  This 
thing's  got  me,  and  I've  got  to  go  through  with  it, 
Lucius." 

"I  see.  Yes,  sir,  it's  too  bad !  Too  bad  !''  And 
Lucius  looked  sympathetically  down,  then  cheerfully 
up  again,  as  the  swinging-doors  parted  to  admit  the 
entrance  of  the  returned  bartender.  "Hello,  George !" 

"Back  a'ready,"  said  George,  self-approvingly. 
"Ham,  fried  potatoes,  coffee,  and  griddle-cakes,  all 
tucked  inside  o'  me,  too  !  Didn't  miss  any  customers, 
did  I ?" 

"No." 

George  came  to  the. table.  "Lemme  look  how  many 
drinks  yoir  o\ve  me  fer  sence  I  went  out,  Joe,"  he 
said.  "I  had  the  place  where  she  come  to  in  the  neck 
of  the  bottle  marked  with  my  thumb."  He  lifted  the 

24 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


bottle,  regarded  it  thoughtfully  at  first,  then  with 
some  surprise.  He  set  it  down  upon  the  table  with 
out  comment,  began  to  whistle  "Little  Annie 
Rooney,"  went  behind  the  bar,  doffed  his  hat,  re 
sumed  his  apron,  and  continued  to  whistle. 

Mr.  Allen  rose,  dusting  some  crumbs  of  cracker 
from  his  attire.  "I  guess  I  must  have  won  the  butter 
milk  record,  George,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  a  silver 
dollar  upon  the  bar.  "If  buttermilk  were  intoxicat 
ing  there  wouldn't  be  a  sober  creature  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.  Trouble  with  your  other  stuff,  George,  it 
tastes  so  rotten!" 

"I  take  buttermilk  sometimes  myself,  Lu,"  said 
George  as  he  made  change.  "I  guess  there  ain't  no 
body  seen  me  carryin'  much  hard  liquor  sence  my 
second  child  was  born.  That  was  the  time  they  had 
to  jug  me,  and — whoo,  gosh!  you'd  ought  to  seen 
what  I  went  through  when  I  got  home  that  night ! 
She's  little  and  she  was  sick-abed,  too,  but  that  didn't 
git  in  her  way  none  !  No,  sir  !" 

"Good  night,"  said  Lucius  cheerily.  "I'm  going  to 
stroll  along  Pawpaw  Street  before  the  band  starts. 
Moon'll  be  'way  up  in  a  little  while  now,  and  on 
such  a  night  as  this  is  going  to  be  did  Jessica, 
the  Jew's  daughter —  You  know  what  I  mean, 
George." 

"Yep,"  said  George  blankly.    "I  gotcha,  Lu." 

"I'm  going,"  said  Lucius,  "to  go  and  push  in  with 
some  folks  to  listen  to  the  band  with.  Good  night, 
Joe." 

Joe  Perley  did  not  turn  his  head,  but  sat  staring 
25 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


fixedly  at  the  table,  his  attitude  being  much  the  same 
as  that  in  which  Lucius  had  discovered  him. 

"Good  night.  Joe,"  the  departing  gentleman  paused 
to  repeat. 

"What?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Lucius.  "I  only  said  'good  night.'  " 

"All  right,"  said  Joe,  absently.    "Good  night." 

Mr.  Allen  took  a  musical  departure.  "Oh,  as  I 
strolled  out  one  summer  evening."  he  sang,  "for  to 
meet  Miss  Nellie  Green,  all  the  birds  and  the  flow'rs 
was  singing  sweetly,  where v — urr  they  was  to  be 
seen !" 

Thus,  singing  heartily,  he  passed  between  the 
swinging-doors  and  out  to  the  street.  Here  he  con 
tinued  his  euphonic  mood,  but  moderated  his  expres 
sion  of  it  to  an  inconspicuous  humming.  Dusk  had 
fallen,  a  dusk  as  scented  and  as  alive  with  spring  as 
he  had  claimed  it  would  be ;  and  a  fair  shaft  of  the 
rising  moon  already  struck  upon  the  white  cupola  of 
the  court-house.  .  .  . 

Mary  Ricketts  was  leaning  upon  the  front  gate  of 
the  Ricketts  place  when  he  came  there. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Mary,"  he  said.  "Are  the 
judge  and  your  mother  at  home?" 

"They're  right  there  on  the  front  porch,  Mr. 
Allen,"  she  said  cordially.  "Won't  you  come  in?'' 

"In  a  minute."  he  responded.  "It  does  me  good 
to  hear  you  answer  when  I  ask  for  your  parents,  Miss 
Mary." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  "you  always  sound  so  friendly 
when  I  ask  for  them  '.'' 

26 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


She  laughed,  and  explained  her  laughter  by  saying, 
"It's  funny  you  don't  always  ask  for  them  !'' 

"Just  so,"  he  agreed.  "I've  been  thinking  about 
that.  Are  you  all  going  up  to  the  Square  pretty  soon, 
to  hear  the  concert?" 

"Father  and  mother  are,  I  think,"  she  said.  "I'm 
not.'' 

"Just  'waiting  at  the  gate'  ?" 

"Not  for  any  one  !" 

Lucius  took  off  his  hat  and  fanned  himself,  a  con 
ciliatory  gesture.  "I  tell  you  I  feel  mighty  sorry  for 
one  young  man  in  this  town  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Who's  that,  Mr.  Allen?" 

"Well — "  he  hesitated.  "I  don't  know  if  1  ought 
to  tell  you  about  it." 

"Why  not  me?"  she  asked,  not  curiously. 

"Well — it's  that  young  Joe  Parley." 

Miss  Ricketts  was  mildly  amused ;  Lncius's  tone 
was  serious,  and  if  she  had  any  interest  whatever  in 
Mr.  Perley  it  was  of  a  quality  most  casual  and  re 
mote.  "Why  should  you  either  tell  me  or  not  tell  me 
anything  about  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"You  know  he's  such  a  good-looking  young  fel 
low,"  said  Lucius.  "And  he's  going  to  make  a  fine 
lawyer,  too ;  I've  had  him  with  me  in  a  couple  of 
cases,  and  I've  an  idea  he  might  have  something  like 
a  real  career  if —  "  he  paused. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  idly.  "If  what?  And  why  is  it 
you  feel  so  sorry  for  him,  and  why  did  you  hesitate  to 
tell  me?  What's  it  all  about,  Mr.  Allen?" 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  explain,  now  I've  gone  this 
27 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


far,"  he  said,  a  little  embarrassed.  "I  was  talking 
with  Joe  to-day,  and — well,  the  fact  is  we  got  to 
talking  about  you." 

"You  did?"  Her  tone  betokened  an  indifference 
unmistakably  genuine.  "Well?" 

Lucius  laughed  with  increased  embarrassment. 
"Well — the  fact  is  we  talked  about  you  a  long  while." 

"Indeed?"  she  said  coldly,  but  there  was  a  slight 
interest  now  perceptible  under  the  coldness  ;  for  Miss 
Ricketts  was  not  unhuman.  "Was  there  a  verdict?" 

"It — it  wasn't  so  much  what  he  said,  exactly — no, 
not  so  much  that,"  Lucius  circumlocuted.  "It  was 
more  the — the  length  of  time  we  were  talking  about 
you.  That  was  the  thing  that  struck  me  about  it,  be 
cause  I  didn't  know — that  is,  I'd  never  heard — I— 

"What  are  you  trying  to  say,  Air.  Allen?'' 

"Well,  I  mean,"  said  Lucius,  "I  mean  I  hadn't 
known  that  he  came  around  here  at  all." 

"He  doesn't." 

"That's  why  I  was  so  surprised." 

"Surprised  at  what?"  she  said  impatiently. 

"Why,"  said  Lucius,  "surprised  at  the  length  of 
time  that  we  were  talking  about  you  !" 

"What  nonsense  !"  she  cried.  "IT hat  nonsense  !  I 
don't  suppose  he's  said  two  words  to  me  or  I  to  him 
in  two  years !" 

"Yes,"  Lucius  assented.  "That's  what  makes  it  all 
the  more  remarkable !  I  supposed  the  only  girl  he 
ever  thought  anything  about  was  Molly  Baker,  but  he 
told  me  the  only  reason  he  ever  goes  there  is  just  be 
cause  she  lives  next  door  to  him." 

28 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


"Not  very  polite  to  Molly!"  said  Miss  Ricketts, 
and  she  laughed  with  some  indulgence  for  this  un- 
gallantry. 

"Still,  Molly's  a  determined  girl,"  Lucius  sug 
gested  ;  "and  she  might — 

"She  might  what?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Lucius.  "I  was  only  remember 
ing  I'd  always  heard  she  was  such  a — such  a  grasping 
sort  of  girl." 

"Had  you?" 

"Yes,  hadn't  you  ?" 

She  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know." 

"So  it  seemed  to  me — well"  He  laughed  hesi 
tatingly.  "Well,  it  certainly  was  curious,  the  length 
of  time  we  were  talking  about  you  to-day  !"  And  he 
paused  again  as  if  awaiting  her  comment;  but  she 
offered  none.  "Well,"  he  said,  finally,  "I  expect  I 
better  go  join  the  old  folks  on  the  porch  where  I  be 
long." 

He  was  heartily  received  and  made  welcome  in 
that  sedate  retreat,  where,  as  he  said,  he  belonged ; 
but  throughout  the  greetings  and  the  subsequent  con 
versation  he  kept  a  corner  of  his  eye  upon  the  dim 
white  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  maple-trees  down 
by  the  gate. 

Presently  another  figure,  a  dark  one,  graceful 
and  young,  came  slowly  along  the  sidewalk — slowly 
and  rather  hesitatingly.  This  figure  paused,  took  a 
few  steps  onward  again ;  then  definitely  halted  near 
the  gate. 

29 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


"Who  is  that  young  man  out  there,  talking  to 
Mary?"  asked  Mary's  mother.  "Can  you  make  out, 
father?" 

"It's  that  young  Joe  Perley,"  the  judge  answered. 

"I've  heard  he  drinks  sc  good  deal  sometimes/'  said 
Mrs.  Ricketts,  thoughtfully.  "His  mother  says  he 
tries  not  to,  but  that  it  comes  over  him,  and  that  he's 
afraid  he'll  turn  out  like  his  father." 

Mr.  Allen  laughed  cheerfully.  "Anybody  at  Joe's 
age  can  turn  out  any  way  he  wants  to,"  he  said.  "Mrs. 
Perley  needn't  worry  about  Joe  any  more.  I  'just  sat 
with  him  an  hour  down  at  the  National  House,  and 
there  was  an  open  whisky  bottle  on  the  table  before 
us,  and  he  never  once  touched  it  all  the  time  I  was 
talking  with  him." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Ricketts.  "That 
ought  to  show  he  has  plenty  of  will-power,  anyhow." 

"Plenty,"  said  Lucius. 

Then  Mary's  young  voice  called  from  the  spaces  of 
night.  "I'm  going  to  walk  up-town  to  the  concert 
with  Mr.  Perley,  mother.  You'd  better  wear  your 
shawl  if  you  come." 

And  there  was  the  click  of  the  gate  as  she  passed 
out. 

"We  might  as  well  be  going  along  then,  I  suppose," 
said  Mrs.  Ricketts,  rising.  "You'll  come  with  us  old 
folks,  Lucius?" 

As  the  three  old  folks  sauntered  along  the  moon- 
speckled  sidewalk  the  two  slim  young  figures  in  ad 
vance  were  faintly  revealed  to  them,  likewise  saun- 

30 


The     SPRING     CONCERT 


tering.  And  Lucius  was  right :  you  could  smell  apple- 
blossoms  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other. 

"I  hope  our  boys  will  win  the  band  tournament  at 
the  county  fair  next  summer,"  said  Mrs.  Ricketts. 
"Don't  you  think  there's  a  pretty  good  chance  of  it, 
Lucius?" 

For  a  moment  he  appeared  not  to  have  heard  her, 
and  she  gently  repeated  her  question : 

"Don't  you  think  there's  a  pretty  good  chance 
of  it?" 

"Yes,  more  than  a  chance,"  he  dreamily  replied. 
"It  only  takes  a  hint  in  springtime.  They'll  do  prac 
tically  anything  you  tell  'em  to.  It's  mostly  the 
apple-blossoms  and  the  little  birds." 


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